My Last Serenade
by jennabrooke7
Summary: "Goodbye, Sandor Clegane. My savior, my protector, my Hound."


**A/N: I wrote this for the Game of Thrones Fanfiction Discussion & Challenge forum based on the phrase "too little, too late." I really hope this is okay since it's my first ever Game of Thrones fic. Sooo...enjoy. *nervously slinks back into the corner***

**Warning: Character death and thoughts of suicide.**

**Disclaimer: GRRM owns everything (even my soul)**

_A million thoughts raced through her mind as she darted to her chambers from the nearly suffocating confines of Maegor's holdfast. Unlike Cersei, Sansa didn't mind the "flock of frightened hens" chattering about nervously or praying to the Seven to keep their men, and their king, safe from harm. She was, however, completely terrified of Ser Ilyn Payne who stood guard next to the Queen. She had no doubt in her mind that, should the situation call for it, he would take a certain special pleasure in killing her. _

_Breathing heavily, she closed the large door and slid the lock into place. She rested her forehead against the cool wood and tried to calm her ragged nerves. How long was she supposed to wait, until morning? The dawn seemed so far away, like years. Sansa was certain that they – whoever they were – would surely find her before then, and she had no way of protecting herself. _

_She wanted nothing more than to crawl into the darkest corner of her chamber and hide. Or better yet, she wanted to escape, to leave this terrible city and its equally as terrible inhabitants behind forever. But she was a Stark of Winterfell. _I am the direwolf,_ she thought to herself, _and the direwolf cowers from no man.

"_The little bird is frightened." The gruff and wonderfully familiar voice broke through her thoughts and she let out a breath that she never knew she had been holding. She turned to face him and nearly cried with relief. _He's alive. The gods heard my prayers and brought the Hound – no, Sandor – back. _The distant crashing of swords and the screams of men fighting, and dying, drifted through Sansa's open window and her relief was replaced with confusion, "Why are you here?" _

"_Not here for long. I'm going." He rasped and Sansa couldn't deny the lurch her heart gave. Voice shaking, she managed to ask, "Where?" She couldn't see much of his face; the room was lit with only a single candle and most of his face, save for the ragged scars that covered the right side, was shrouded in darkness. But she could hear the slight tremor of fear in his voice, "Someplace that isn't burning." He paused and looked up at her from his seat at the end of her bed and for a moment Sansa saw something in his dark eyes that she couldn't place. He continued, "North, might be. Could be."_

_Was Sandor truly asking her to leave with him? Dare she hope against hope that the gods had sent her a savior? But wait, he couldn't leave no more than she could. "What about the king?" she asked in a small voice. He responded as he took a drink from the wineskin in his hand, "The king can die just fine on his own." _Oh, but he won't,_ Sansa thought darkly,_ the gods would never be that generous. And just as they would never permit such a horrid king to die, I could never hope to live in safety if I escaped.

"_I could take you with me; take you to Winterfell. I'll keep you safe. Do you want to go home?" Sansa could now identify the look in his eyes as he spoke, for the very same look reflected back in her own blue eyes: hope and longing. Oh, how she longed to see her home, her family. This man standing before her was giving her a way out, a chance to run away and never look back. But Sansa Stark was made of more than that. She was bound by duty and honor to stay in King's Landing, and stay she would. "I'll be safe here. Stannis won't hurt me."_

_Suddenly he had his large hands on her arms and growled, "Look at me!" She knew he was talking but she couldn't hear anything else; the entire world dissolved away when she looked at his face. She could see why so many men feared him. There was so much hate within the dark depths of his eyes that even the bravest of men may cower in fear. And yet, none of it was directed at her. _

_Sandor had stopped talking and Sansa took the moment to say, "You won't hurt me." He let out a dry chuckle and said, "No, Little Bird. I won't hurt you."_

* * *

Sansa could still remember every little detail of that night. She could still feel her heart pounding in her chest as he talked of taking her away. The scent of blood, sweat, dirt and wine – a scent that was strangely comforting – was so strong in the darkness of her chambers. The urge to simply reach her small hand up and touch his face had been so overwhelming and the fact that she didn't continues, on this day especially, to be one of her deepest regrets.

She clutched the raven scroll to her breast and fought back the sob that tried to break through. She wouldn't cry; she would not allow anyone to see her in such a weakened state. Sometimes it seemed like the whole of King's Landing had seen her beaten and bloodied at some point in time and she hadn't shed a single tear; Sansa Stark was strong. She was, after all, carrying the king's bastard in her belly.

_The Hound has been found dead._

The words pierced through her heart like needles. She wanted to scream at the gods for playing such a cruel joke, but it wasn't a joke. This was real and Sandor Clegane was dead.

Sansa was alone.

"Will milady be needing anything else?" Sansa couldn't bear to look at her single handmaiden for fear that her face would reveal the emotional storm within her, "No, you may go." When she was certain she was completely alone, she allowed a single tear to fall, and then another, and another, until she was curled up in the floor holding herself as her body was wracked with sobs.

Why did he have to leave? He said that he would protect her and he wasn't, and now he's dead! _Gods I was such a stupid girl! Why didn't I leave with him that night like he so longed for me to do? The Others take duty and honor; they are useless to a girl who has nothing. What's the point in living in a world where my only chance at happiness or love is dead?_

The idea was so simple. She thought of the blade hidden under her mattress; just one simple cut and it's all over. She could be happy again. That's what she deserved, right? She could find Sandor and her family and never have to worry about anything ever again.

Mind made up, she pulled out the blade and tested the edge on her thumb. _Perfect._ As Sansa contemplated the best way to cut, the felt a flutter in her womb that made her stop cold. Lost in her grief and suffering, Sansa had completely forgotten about the child inside her. _You may not love the king, but you will love his children._

What right did she have to take the life of this innocent child that she already loved with all her heart? Joffrey may be cruel enough to kill babes, but Sansa most certainly was not. She would raise this child with all the honor of houses Stark and Tully; the Others take those who rose against her.

Sansa spent the entire night grieving Sandor's death. She cried until she felt like there couldn't possibly be any more water in her body, and then cried some more. Come sunrise, her eyes were dry and her heart was numb. She had resolved to never shed another tear for him ever again. _He wouldn't like it anyways._ She would, however, do him one final honor. She stood at the open window and ran her hands over her slightly protruding stomach, "I shall name you Sandor and you will be the fiercest and bravest man in the Seven Kingdoms." She felt another tiny flutter and let one final tear fall from her eyes.

"Goodbye, Sandor Clegane. My savior, my protector, my Hound."


End file.
